


Dirty talk

by epithalamium



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Fluff, Humor, M/M, active decision not to have protected sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-07
Updated: 2013-10-07
Packaged: 2017-12-28 17:05:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/994423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epithalamium/pseuds/epithalamium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘I got you something from the apothecary’s,’ said Mike, handing Erwin a neatly wrapped bundle. It was roughly the size of Erwin’s hand, the contents giving way softly when Erwin pressed against the paper wrappings in an attempt to guess what was inside.</p><p>‘Are you giving me gloves?’ Erwin said, puzzled.</p><p>(Dirty talk is not actually featured.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dirty talk

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Dirty talk  
> Characters/Pairings: Erwin Smith/Rivaille, Mike Zacharius  
> Rating: PG-13 for language  
> Disclaimer: Shingeki no Kyojin and all related characters is to Isayama Hajime and associates.  
> Summary: Rivaille cleans Erwin's office.  
> Word count: 2,100~  
> Notes/Warnings: Happened after Erwin becomes Commander for the Scouting Legion. I needed to get it out of the way before we find out what really happens in _A choice with no regrets_.

The morning had been a busy one—Erwin knew with depressing certainty that he could look forward to similarly busy mornings until the chaos of paperwork left by his predecessor was put to rights again—and his breakfast was interrupted more than once by members of the military and nobility alike; the lot at turns confirming orders, seeking his opinion, and offering advice. He dealt with them with customary good grace even as the leash on his temper shortened and his tea got cold. Most of those people had forgone their morning meals altogether in order to talk to him, and Erwin reckoned he owed them a semblance of politeness, if nothing else. Most of them certainly meant well, even if their advice was given in tones that bordered on demanding. In some cases, even condescending.

He was the new Commander of the Scouting Legion, and they wanted to know what sort of Commander he was going to be. Erwin had worked with and for his morning visitors during his years as a Squad Leader before, of course, but his promotion had ensured the beginning of a different kind of power play. Erwin had to make sure not to antagonise his colleagues and the nobles, but without making as if to bend over backwards in order to please them. He would have missed the comparative simplicity of his former life, had he been given time to contemplate such things.

The sun was well over the horizon when Mike arrived with several bulky packages and a sheaf of documents, begging everyone’s pardon but he would like to speak to Commander Erwin concerning some matter with horses and supplies. Everyone suddenly remembered urgent businesses waiting for their attention once financial problems were mentioned, and Erwin finally had the chance to lean back on his seat, finishing off his tepid tea with a slight frown.

‘Thank you,’ he said, with a nod in Mike’s direction. ‘I would offer you breakfast, but I’m afraid it’s all gone cold.’

Mike just shrugged. ‘Already ate before dropping by. I reckoned you’ll need someone to send those buggers off. You’re too kind to them, you know that?’

‘I doubt they’ll agree with you.’ Erwin made a face at his buttered toast, which had adopted the consistency of soggy wood. He took a bite anyway. Food was hard enough to come by without getting wasted on delicate appetites. He was sure Rivaille would tell him the same, although in a more colourful way, had Rivaille been in the office with him.

As if following Erwin’s train of thought, Mike asked, ‘Where’s your little shadow, anyway?’

‘Overseeing matters in the barracks.’ A smile tugged at the corners of Erwin’s mouth. The thought of Rivaille as his ‘little shadow’ amused him, but not as much as the thought of the hygienic and methodical havoc Rivaille was surely wreaking in the barracks right that moment. 

Mike raised his eyebrows, but refrained from further comment. Mike had expressed doubts about Rivaille before, and considering Rivaille’s past one could argue Mike’s suspicions well-founded. But Rivaille had proven himself to the Legion more than once, his skills reason enough to still wagging tongues and earn respect where Erwin’s sponsorship can only go so far. 

‘I got you something from the apothecary’s,’ said Mike, handing Erwin a neatly wrapped bundle. It was roughly the size of Erwin’s hand, the contents giving way softly when Erwin pressed against the paper wrappings in an attempt to guess what was inside.

‘Are you giving me gloves?’ Erwin said, puzzled.

‘Of a sort,’ said Mike, with a smirk. ‘A present to celebrate your promotion. And to welcome your little shadow into the loving arms of the Scouting Legion, of course.’

‘You’re giving me and Rivaille gloves?’ Erwin’s tone suggested that Mike should have already noticed that neither Erwin nor Rivaille took to wearing gloves. As far as Erwin knew, no one in the military did. Gloves were purely the nobility’s province, worn to protect pale and delicate hands. Erwin, with his callused and ink-stained fingers, certainly had no need of gloves. Even ones that came from the apothecary’s. Whatever that might mean.

‘I never said they were gloves,’ said Mike, looking like he didn’t know whether to express exasperation or amusement. Erwin was quite used to that particular expression. 

Erwin opened his mouth to say that Mike _had_ in fact implied such, but Mike cut him off, ‘Just open the damned package, if you’re so curious.’

Erwin did. The paper wrapping revealed several lengths of goat’s gut, all neatly tied at one end with ribbons the same colour as the Scouting Legion cape. Erwin felt the blood rush to his face. ‘Mike!’

‘I picked out the colour of the ribbons especially,’ said Mike.

‘I don’t care what damned colour the ribbons are,’ said Erwin, fighting for a semblance of calm. ‘What made you think we— _I_ would be needing these?’

‘You don’t know where Rivaille’s been, do you?’ Mike waggled his eyebrows at Erwin. ‘Who knows what sort of diseases he’s picked up in the slums.’

‘I don’t think—’ Erwin cut himself off. He grabbed Mike’s present and stuck it inside one of the drawers in his desk. Well-meaning and condescending advice Erwin could deal with. But the turn of his current conversation with Mike was more than he could handle, with only tepid tea and soggy wood toast in his stomach. ‘Am I supposed to be filled with undying gratitude?’

‘Oh, believe me, Commander,’ said Mike, ‘you’ll thank me soon enough.’

*

Erwin was pretty finicky about privacy, so Rivaille made sure to knock before entering the Commander’s office. He realised he shouldn’t have bothered, since there was no one inside to appreciate the effort. Rivaille dragged a sizeable bucket of water and a pile of cleaning rags inside, frowning at the sight that greeted him.

He hadn’t expected Erwin to be a clean sort of fellow. Sure, Erwin looked well-groomed enough and took certain care with his appearance in general. But that was to be expected from a man of his rank. Rivaille had pegged Erwin for a fancy boy from the outset, someone used to having other people clean up after him. Rivaille’s initial judgement of Erwin’s character as some soft, cultured swine—engorged with meat and sweets—was as far from the truth as a safe and happy life outside the Walls, but apparently Rivaille was right about some aspects of Erwin’s personality.

‘What a fucking pig,’ said Rivaille. He ran a finger across one of Erwin’s shelves. It was unbelievable. An inch of dust covered almost all available surfaces. The desk looked relatively dustless, but more than made up for it with the piles of paper and writing implements heaped on top like some sort of miniature city. Dirty plates and cups suggested that the commander couldn’t be arsed to eat at a proper table like everyone else. Rivaille was just glad Erwin didn’t favour carpets, or he’d be stuck there worrying about stepping on some sort of invisible organism all day.

Rivaille made sure to tie a clean cloth over his face before he let out a sigh. It was time to get to work.

*

He’d left Erwin’s desk for last. He reckoned Erwin kept his papers in some sort of order, despite all appearance to the contrary, and Erwin probably wouldn’t appreciate Rivaille moving his things about without so much as a by-your-leave. In the end, Rivaille had to satisfy himself with re-arranging the piles of paper so they wouldn’t totter so precariously on top of the desk and putting away the dirty dishes to wash later. He was just beginning to get the shit in Erwin’s drawers into a semblance of order when the man himself entered the room.

‘I thought you were at the barracks,’ said Erwin.

‘I’m done with that,’ said Rivaille, not looking up from his task. ‘Thought I could get started on your rooms today, as well. Did you know you had a moulding loaf of bread stuffed in your drawer? It looks like some ancient artefact. A fucking smelly one.’

Erwin opened his mouth, realised he couldn’t defend himself, and shut it again.

Rivaille tossed the bread onto a growing pile of shit he needed to throw away later. He wrapped a cleaning cloth around his hand before touching the thing, but he still couldn’t suppress a shudder of revulsion at having to handle it in the first place. Erwin was looking around the room with an impressed look on his face. Rivaille would have paused to point out how stupid Erwin looked except he’d noticed a badly wrapped package pushed to the far side of the drawer and he had to brace himself yet again against whatever surprise Erwin’s desk has in store for him.

It did turn out to be a surprise, but not the sort Rivaille was prepared for.

‘What the fuck are these?’ he said, holding out a length of goat’s gut from the very tips of his thumb and forefinger.

‘What—?’ Erwin turned around from his inspection of his newly dusted shelves and at the thing Rivaille was holding out like a dead rat. Erwin’s face turned the shade of a bruised tomato, which Rivaille reckoned he shouldn’t find at all charming, but did. ‘Er, that’s. Well—’

Rivaille took pity on the man. ‘I know what they are, Erwin. I’m not four years old. What I wanted to know is what they’re doing in your desk drawer—’ his voice trailed away when realisation hit him. People usually kept such things in their own private rooms; not only to avoid such a scene as was unfolding in Erwin’s office right that moment, but also because they’d want to have it ready when needed. Did Erwin actually fuck people inside his filthy office? Worse, had Rivaille actually touched something—the sofa, maybe, or heaven forbid, Erwin’s fucking _desk_ —

‘It’s not what you think,’ said Erwin. 

‘I sure hope to Sina you haven’t used these yet,’ said Rivaille. 

‘No.’ Erwin closed his eyes. ‘Mike gave them to me just this morning.’

‘You and Mike, then?’ Rivaille didn’t know how he felt about that. Surprised, for starters. He knew the two men were close, but he’d never thought Mike was quite Erwin’s type. Or vice versa. Embarrassed, as well, since it was really none of his business and the circumstances of his finding out about Erwin’s secret weren’t exactly ideal. And angry. He had no idea why, but he was. He willed Erwin to open his eyes again so he could see Rivaille glaring at him with all the ferociousness he could muster. 

Which was pretty ferocious. He kept at it until Erwin did open his eyes, and Rivaille felt a certain satisfaction in seeing Erwin flinch.

‘No. Nothing like that.’ Erwin swallowed. ‘He gave them to me as a present. To celebrate my promotion, he said.’

Rivaille didn’t say anything. It made sense, in a way. Erwin was just so prim and proper; it would be a shame not to have a bit of fun at his expense once in a while. Mike probably reckoned Erwin needed to loosen up and get his dick wet too, a thought Rivaille could certainly get behind. 

Erwin must have misread Rivaille’s silence, because he went on, ‘The ribbons are the same colour as the Scouting Legion cape. Mike said he chose them especially. At first I thought he was giving us gloves, actually. I’ve no idea what we’d use gloves for, but I certainly would have appreciated them better.’

‘Us?’ said Rivaille.

Erwin took a deep breath. ‘I—that is, they were supposed to be a present for you, as well.’

Rivaille finally dropped the prophylactic he was holding back in its wrapper with the rest of its fellows. ‘Were they?’

‘To welcome you into the loving arms of the Scouting Legion, supposedly.’

‘If you think I’m going to let something that’s been sharing the same space as a fucking mouldy bread touch my privates, you’re not as bright as I thought you were, Erwin.’ Erwin smiled at that. Rivaille stood up, dusting his palms against the sides of his trousers. ‘Do you need them?’

‘Do you?’ Erwin’s tone was almost challenging.

‘Fuck, no.’ Rivaille nudged at the pile of rubbish he’d meant to throw out with the toe of his boot. ‘Fuck this. I’m going to take a bath.’

‘I’ll take care of it.’ Erwin crossed the room to stand next to the pile of rubbish, staring at it as if a mere glance would make the lot conveniently vanish. 

‘Don’t be stupid.’ Rivaille reached out, tangling his fingers with the laces of Erwin’s tie, pulling Erwin down. ‘You’re coming with me,’ he said, pressing his lips against Erwin’s.

**Author's Note:**

> People have indeed been using condoms as early as the 16th century. The kind of prophylactics described in the fic--which are made of animal intestine--were used 'round the 18th century. Considering we still have no idea whether the world of SnK is an alternate universe (where the human race as we know it gets wiped out by an infestation of titans) or a different world entirely, I opted to play hard and fast with historical accuracy.


End file.
